


Megs the Virgin

by prisonmechanic



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Forced Orgasm, Kink Introduction, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Megatron is a virgin, Optimus teaches him how to fuck okay, Sticky Sexual Interfacing (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29575221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisonmechanic/pseuds/prisonmechanic
Summary: Look at the tags. That's the plot okay.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 6
Kudos: 96





	Megs the Virgin

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I quit drugs, all I have left is writing so you're just gonna accept what I write at this point. Thats a threat.

The walls were decorated with silks and a finary that Megatron was not, nor would ever be used to. Mechs brushed past him in silks of their own as well, high grade in tiny flutes he was sure to squish even if he was being as delicate as possible. It was a waste of wealth and materials he had never seen before. 

Even Starscream and his trine dressed up; pulling wing jewelry Megatron was convinced was from old Vos over their delicate wings to make them glitter as they passed. And though they stood out amongst the crowd of high command; Decepticons and Autobots alike, Megatron found himself not even drawn to look their way. 

No. He was much more concerned with not making a fool of himself. 

He moved awkwardly in the cape Soundwave had poured for him, ever concerned it would snag or rip on something. His digits felt clumsy wrapped around any energon glass he could find. He felt foolish trying to move as elegantly as his seekers did. He felt, to put it lightly, like a fool. 

He had resigned himself to try to blend in with the wall as much as possible. It was only one night, he kept reminding himself, One night to celebrate their truce and then he could return to trade routes and mining regulations. There, at the very least he could have a cube of fuel without worrying about murdering the thing in the process. 

"You look nice, did you polish?" 

He revised his earlier statement;  _ Just one night of playing nice with Prime to make it look like they were getting along. _

Megatron huffed, armour flaring in a way that couldn't be taken as anything other than defensive, "Despite what you might think Prime, us low castes do know how to clean up." 

"Never said you didn't," Optimus said behind his battle mask, "only that I thought it looked nice." 

Megatron didn't like being made for a fool. Whatever attempt this was to flatter him into a trade agreement, or simply jest at his expense, he wasn't going to stand here in an uncomfortable cape and take it. 

"What is it you want? I may play nice for the public but I have no intention of standing here and smiling pretty in private," he snarled under his breath, Baring his fangs behind his glass as he took a careful sip. 

Well, as private as a room full of high command could be. 

Behind his mask, Optimus blinked at him. Then suddenly, he looked as if ashamed; his optics sweeping to the side and a pink tinge rising to his cheeks, barely visible beneath his mask. 

"I may have had ulterior motives in seeing you tonight," He admitted. 

Megatron rolled his optics. Oh, Autobots and their social customs for everything. He responded, "Out with it then. I'd like to get back home  _ early  _ tonight." 

" I meant to catch you after our last meeting to try and solve some of…  _ this. Between us.  _ Whatever it is,"

"I don't know what you mean,  _ Prime _ ." 

Optimus mumbled, "Primus. Well if you want me to say it aloud," He cleared his vocalizer and spoke up, 

"The Sexual tension. I always wanted to ask why you didn't… You know. Frag me when you had the chance?" 

Perhaps he was getting a hang of this glass flute thing. He balanced it between two of his claws, sticking his pinky out to steady it as he saw Starscream do. Minimum pressure, minimum chance to crack--

Megatron spat out the high grade. 

He coughed and sputtered, leaning forward trying to cover it before the entire room was staring at them. Optimus patted his back lightly, seemingly worried about his condition. There was a loud  _ crack  _ from somewhere, but Megatron didn’t have the wits to figure out where. The patting soon turned to a caress as Megatron brought himself up once more, vents stopping their heaving. 

“You’ve hurt yourself,” Optimus said, Servo reaching for his own and holding it tenderly. The flute he had once been holding had been crushed, shards sticking in between the gaps in his plating. His digits leaked a few drops of energon. 

Optimus smiled, “Well, had I known I was able to throw you off with a blunt statement I would have done so more often during our battles. Come on, I’ll help you clean up.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” Megatron hissed, already more than done with his share of embarrassment for the night. Despite his tone, he allowed Optimus to hold him by the wrist and pull him through the crowd. 

Optimus brushed a mech aside as they made it deeper into the ballroom. He has to speak loudly over the crowd, “Which part?”

“Both!” Megatron all but yelled back at him.

In their hasty escape, Megatron back hit something blue. He whirled around just enough to catch the playful glimmer off Soundwave's visor. Immediately he sent a distress signal to his TIC. 

Soundwave pinged him back an affirmative and turned back to the two Autobots he was mingling with. 

_ Traitor.  _

Optimus laughed, pulling him further along until they finally made it to a door at the back of the room. Prime pushed the door open easily, revealing a hallway just as overly grandiose as the ballroom they had just left. Only now, they were alone. 

"You're going to cause a scandal!" Megatron said as he found his voice again. 

"Hardly," Prime smiled back at him, "This is a private party, and I doubt anyone here hasn't been expecting us to run off together at some point tonight." 

"I still don't know what you  _ mean! _ " Megatron sheathed back at him. 

Optimus stopped at a door, giving it a soft knock. When there was no reply, he pushed the door open and tugged Megatron inside. Where Optimus had been leading him was a small private washracks. He had to guess that it may have at once been a storeroom due to its long awkward shape. But now it was filled with a set of a few cupboards and a glass-enclosed wash station. At the back of it was another door. Megatron wondered where it went. 

Primus let him go finally, dipping down to look through one of the drawers. It was filled with a few standard polishes along with some basic maintenance tools-- none of which were new. 

Optimus grabbed a set of tweezers, the kind one may use for picking a stubborn splinter or stone out from their cabling. 

"Don't tease," Optimus scolded him, though Megatron was in fact telling the truth. 

Optimus reached out, taking Megatron's servo before he could object. He attempted to pull it away, but the Prime's grip on his wrist was firm enough to keep it in place. Megatron pictured them gating into a brawl here in the bathroom but found it wouldn't be worth it, and let Optimus tend to him. 

"I am not lying, Optimus. I don't know what you mean by…  _ Tension _ ." the word tasted so bitter he spat it out. 

Optimus stopped in the middle of plucking a glass shard from his joints. His gaze shot up, expression twisted into something suspicious and Megatron was starting to rethink that brawl after all. 

"Do you remember when you captured me back a few hundred years? On Titanius, in the Haxon quarter?" Optimus asked, pulling the shard out without looking. 

Megatron didn't dignify it with a wince. 

He did remember Titanius though. A lot of Autobots had attributed it as the beginning of the end of the war, though upper command knew that it was the trade agreements occurring after the battles on that planet. He had captured Prime and held him at the Decepticon base for only a few vorn before their Spec.Ops team had busted him out. A few vorn too long, Megatron realized a cycle later when Optimus came to him with a set of trade agreements covering what losses he had seen in captivity; energon and space-worthy fuel. 

Megatron had no option but to open negotiations. He still hadn't figured out if it was a mistake or not. 

"Vaguely," He huffed. 

Optimus rolled his optics and looked back down to his servo. He got a good grip on the next fragment of glass and wiggled it purposefully. 

Megatron growled out a warning. 

"Well. I surely remember being chained with my arms above my helm and my legs chained apart for some time in your throne room. I wouldn't exactly call that innocent. Starscream asked me once if you had finally had your way with me-- imagine his surprise when I had to say you'd barely touched me since hoisting me up," Optimus scoffed, yanking the piece of glass out and setting it aside. 

"It was a show of force! To humiliate you! To insinuate I would-- would assault a prisoner makes me question your sanity!" Megatron balked. 

Optimus put the tweezers down and glared at him. 

"Fine. Fine.  _ Sexually _ assault a prisoner. I would never take advantage of that. I had assumed you at least didn't think  _ that _ lowly of me."

"I don't. Besides the occasional beating, you've been a complete gentle mech. Which is why I assumed asking you would finally let us consensually settle this once and for all but I'm starting to have my suspicions about your motives," Optimus sighed. 

He flipped on the tap and tugged Megatron's servo under the stream of solvent. It was a little forceful, but Megatron didn't resist. With his other servo, Optimus pulled a small patch from the open drawer and then nudged it closed with his hip. 

When he removed Megatron's servo from the solvent he used the pristine towel beside the sink to dab it dry, picking up small pink dabs of Energon along with it as he worked. 

"You thought-- all this time-- that I wanted to frag you?" finally understanding exactly what Optimus had meant sent his processor reeling. 

They had been enemies for what had been millennia by now. After all of the damage they had given each other; optics tore out, plating ripped from protoform, joints ripped out of their sockets-- Fragging had been the furthest from his mind. But apparently, his worst enemy had other things on his processor. 

"Are you mad?!" Megatron balked. 

When Optimus slapped the patch on his servo it lacked the gentleness of the rest of the procedure. Megatron winced at the impact and pulled his servo away, dentae already barred at Prime. 

Optimus stared back at him stoically, optics hardened into something Megatron was much more familiar with than the fond and familiar gaze from earlier. 

"Apparently I am. Or perhaps you're just  _ stupid, _ " Optimus crossed his arms and motioned to the door, "Well you're all patched up. You can go now, ungrateful aft." 

"Me?! You're the one making  _ assumptions!"  _

"Oh just me and the rest of our collective forces. Well, we can finally prove them wrong, hm? Off you go! You can tell Starscream all about how I tried to make a move on you all you want," Optimus snarled back at him. 

It almost came as a surprise when Optimus Prime started yelling. Not that he hadn't seen it before-- it used to be a common occurrence on the battlefield. But since changing paces from battles to trade agreement and eventually peace negotiations Optimus had been significantly less abrasive. He spoke openly, often attempting small jokes at Megatron's expense--

_ Primus. Optimus Prime had been teasing him.  _

Suddenly worried he had been missing out on several other flirtation tactics from his oldest enemy, Megatron puffed his plating up reflexively in defence. 

There was no way he had been that oblivious. But thinking back to Titanious all he could picture was the way Optimus' back had arched to accommodate the way he had been strung up, and how his legs had been held open for all those vorn--

"What," He managed, still puffed up like some scared bird trying to make itself look scarier than it was. 

"I am thoroughly embarrassed and would appreciate it if you left," Optimus snarled, arms crossed and Optics stuck stubbornly on the far door as if willing to escape through it.

"How long had you-- did you think I wanted to frag you?" Megatron swallowed thickly, trying to piece together the situation. 

Optimus looked miserable, but answered the question as if he owed Megatron that much, "it was a brawl on the fields of Tygar Pax." 

Megatron blinked up at him, "That was at the beginning of the war!" 

Optimus threw his arms up in the air out of frustration, "You grabbed my valve cover while we were grappling! How was I supposed to react? " 

"Like a normal mechanism with standards!" 

Optimus rolled his optics and pointed to the door, optics a thick cobalt blue as they stared down Megatron, "Well if I'm so below your standards then I invite you, again, to leave and never bring this up again!" 

Megatron glanced at the door and immediately decided he was not done here. Exiting the room now would be a retreat, and Megatron did not do retreats. 

"My standards?! I was a  _ miner,  _ you're the  _ Prime-- _ " 

Optimus' glare softened marginally, "Is that functionalist propaganda? From the glossa of the famed revolutionary, Megatron of Tarn?" 

Megatron shut his mouth immediately. The idea-- the even vague inkling that Optimus had even thought of him as more than a miner and even a more than his adversary -- was a new pill to swallow. Past the indignation of his greatest adversary lusting after him, the idea of the Prime lusting after him seemed appealing in its own way. 

But wasn't that functionalist Ideation too? 

To put Optimus up on some pedestal just because he was a Prime was probably not as bad as, But strikingly similar to looking down on Megatron because he had at one point been a miner. There was something weird about that, and it didn't seem to fit neatly into the concept of Optimus in his helm. 

Megatron let out a small scoff, turning his helm away to look away from Optimus, "I'd rather you'd just get on with it and open your panels than have you lecture me on pre-war politics."

"You want me to open my panels? Why Megatron I thought you didn't want to frag me," Optimus said, and Megatron didn't have to look him in the face to feel the smirk. 

"Maybe not you Optimus," Megatron dared to look at him in the optics as he said, "But Fragging a Prime has its appeal." 

He expected Optimus to be taken aback, maybe make another remark about functionalism or politics, but much like the rest of the evening, he proved to surprise the Warlord once again. 

“So you do want to frag me? Or… maybe not me but the Prime?” Optimus, leaned up against the wash rack vanity, feigning a sort of indifference to the idea. 

Megatron swallowed, “Perhaps.” 

The next moments are a whirl as Optimus takes his servo, yanking him up against his chest. Optimus’ face was only inches from his own, not yet touching. Their Chassis were pressed together, and after the first shock of the situation, Megatron noticed just how warm Optimus was.

“Is that a yes?” 

Some cursed, lustful part of him answered, “Yes.”

Optimus grabbed his servo, leading him through the far door. The air that greeted them was stale as if the room hadn’t been opened since the palace’s reconstruction months ago. It was dim, but lights from a far window provided enough light For Megatron to make out the rest of the room. A bookshelf beside the door and the side tables were worth little attention as his companion dragged him directly to berth. 

The back of his knees came into contact with the berth, and Megatron fought to keep his balance as Optimus continued to invade his personal space. Chest to chest with the Prime Optimus moved his attentions slightly lower, kissing his jawline first and then slowly down to his neck. Immediately hydraulic fluid left his legs and he fought to keep his balance. 

He lost that particular battle when Optimus gave him a small shove. Megatron fell back onto the berth and immediately propped himself up on his elbows as to not be caught completely prone. He looked to the door, wondering if it was too late to escape now. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," Optimus smiled gently down at him. From this angle, Optimus looked impossibly tall and imposing. But at the same time, it gave a lovely view of the seams in his armour, so rarely seen at a direct angle. 

Megatron swallowed down his anxiety, "As if you could. I'd like to see you try." 

"I won't try to, Megatron. This is not a fight." Optimus stated. When he moved forwards onto the berth, he pressed a knee between Megatron's thighs, pressing them open as he slid on top. 

Megatron went to protest their positioning but the words died on his glossa as Optimus kissed his neck again. He dared to even nip at his main fuel line, putting slight pressure on it before kissing the same spot in a mock apology before moving lower and repeating it. 

He lost himself for a second but sobered up to the idea that he was supposed to be doing something too. He tilted his helm, but at this angle, he couldn't reciprocate the biting or kissed, and to raise a servo to tease a seam would leave him completely laid back on the berth and at Optimus mercy. 

Frustrated, he jumped as Optimus made it low enough to kiss the top of his chest plate. 

Megatron froze, was he supposed to be making noise? Telling Optimus to get off of him? There was absolutely no way he was letting Optimus anywhere near his valve cover--

"Megatron?" 

"Hng?"

Optimus looked up at him, Optics electric blue and searching. Megatron immediately hiked himself up, a defence rising in his throat to try and justify his inactivity. He sat up, and in the process the top of Optimus knee came into contact with his panel, sending a charge through his pelvis. 

Megatron couldn't stop the small moan that escaped his vocalizer. 

Optimus smiled up at him, and his fans clicked on, "You were freezing up. Are you alright?" 

"I'm Fine, Prime. Just get on with it," He snapped back. 

Optimus tilted his helm. Boldly, he brought a servo up to cup Megatron's faceplates. The touch was warm and gentle, almost as if Optimus was being  _ affectionate-- _

Megatron immediately swatted the servo away as he turned his helm and snarled at Optimus, "I agreed to a frag, Prime. I did not agree to all of this mushy Autobot swill. Get on with it or get out." 

Optimus's affectionate gaze dropped and he pulled back slightly, the contact of his knee pulling away with him and leaving Megatron's valve cover cold and alone. He sat up, still on Megatron's lap, "It's called foreplay, and it's going to make sure I'm all lubricated up for you. Primus, have you been just, slamming into mechs this entire time? Megatron I'm not some mech you can bully into taking your spike. I need some preparation."

Megatron felt his face flush. Scared he had somehow already fragged this up without doing much at all, he scoffed, "Of course you need some sort of  _ help _ . Go lay down on the berth and I'll prepare you, alright."

Megatron assured himself that he'd do much better on top and in control. 

Optimus obliged, but not without a half-hearted grumble about romance. He shuffled himself upon the berth, settling himself in the middle and reclining back into the ridiculous amount of decorative pillows at the head of the berth. He motioned down to himself invitingly. 

Megatron swallowed. 

He moved before he could think too hard about it. He slid up on the berth, managing to get himself settled between Optimus’ spread legs. Kneeling over the Prime awoke a familiar smugness and excitement that usually accompanied overpowering the mech. With peace negotiations going as well as they were, he hadn’t felt this way in a long time, and he was more than happy to fall into that role once again. 

Megatron palmed his own Spike cover as he shifted forwards. Now that the efforts of his own bravado were before him, he felt cold; it radiated up from his pedes up into his chassis and to the tips of his digits. Panicking only slightly, he curled his servos into tight fists for a moment, trying to warm them. Cold and clammy, he worried that even his touch would give away his inexperience. He took a risk, moving swiftly to grope Optimus’ windshield. When his response wasn’t immediate and positive, Megatron gripped a wiper blade instead. 

“Careful!” Optimus yelped, jolting up in the berth, “Those are sensitive!”

Megatron did not dignify his concern with a verbal response, instead, growling at him. But he took the hint, gently rubbing the blade softly. With a little more pressure he flipped it up to stand up off the windshield of Optimus’s chest. Suddenly inspired, Megatron leaned forwards and took the tip into his intake and swirled his glossa around it. 

That earned him a very enthusiastic, very encouraging moan. He took it as a sign to continue, and he sucked lightly on its tip. He earned another moan when he swirled his tongue around the very end of it. 

"Touch me," Optimus moaned, "Primus, please touch me. " 

Leave it to Prime to invoke his namesake during interface. 

Megatron let his servos wander, only giving a passing thought to how easily he gave into Optimus' demands. The frame under his was familiar to a point Megatron could consider it part of his own. He knew every sensitive seam, and for the first time brushed over them seeking pleasure and not harm. Optimus shivered. 

It was a new sort of power, one Megatron found great pleasure in. He manipulated Optimus like a puppet, dipping a claw into his left vent to make the mech arch, then kissing his neck to settle him back down. It was just like manipulating an opponent in a fight, but this time Megatron aimed to draw everything out of Prime, not just his energon and spark. 

_ Snict.  _

The noise froze Megatron and he looked down towards the noise. Optimus' spike has pressurized between their legs, narrowly avoiding bumping Megatron's thigh. Proportional, it was decorated with vertical biolight lines and horizontal blue and red stripes. Below it, a similar-looking valve pulsed a dim light that reflected off of their plating. 

_ Snict.  _

Megatron firmly believed he had not sent the command to open his valve and spike panel. Surprised to find himself already pressurized and his valve leaking a few beads of lubricant. 

"Oh, Megatron," Optimus moaned, "You are beautiful." 

Heat rose immediately into Megatron's cheeks. His spike was the same plain Grey his frame was, with red biolight under the flare of his spike head. From this angle, Optimus couldn't see his valve, but it too lacked the showy flare that Optimus' spike and valve so clearly displayed. He would have had been self-conscious about it if he had time to be. 

"Sit on the edge of the berth, I want to taste you," Optimus breathed, optics locked on Megatron's spike. 

How could anyone say no to that? Megatron shuffled to the side of the berth, sitting with his legs apart. His servos gripped his knees, almost denting his plating as Optimus rose and then settled on his knees between Megatron's legs. He made a lewd show of licking his lips, looking up to Megatron for approval. Once given a nod, he leaned in, dragging his glossa from the bottom of Megatron's spike up to the tip, cleaning up pre-fluid that had dribbled out of his spike. 

Megatron moaned, and already pleasure was pooling at the base of his spike. He dug his claws into his knees, leaving small dents as he tried to hold on for dear life. He couldn't-- couldn't give in so easily. Not yet. He didn't want to-- to--

To give away that this was his first time. 

"Grab my helm," Optimus purred, engine revving between Megatron's thighs, "Make me suck it." 

Megatron released his claws from his thighs and brings his right servo to place it on the back of Optimus' helm. It feels right. He wants to force the mechs helm down, wants to own his intake and make the Prime take his spike. He wants this. But he's already so close to overload. 

He doesn't want to give himself away. 

Pleasure blooms like violence as Optimus intake wraps around his spike. Megatron let out a choked moan and he pushed Optimus down his spike. There was resistance as his tip met the back of his intake, but it quickly relaxed and he slid down into the back of Optimus' throat. The pleasure bordered on pain as he held the overload back. There's no way he was going to--

Optimus' helm lifted and the movement took him over the edge. Trying to stop the impending disaster, he pushed the Prime off of his spike, but it was too late. Overload rattled his frame, his plating clanging as he clenched down. Transfluid shot in webs of fluid over the Prime's face, and that was an erotic enough image to prolong the encompassing feeling. Megatron could feel his fuel pump in his digits as he finally regained his faculties. 

Optimus Prime stared up at Megatron, a string of transfluid laying over his optics. There was silence for a good few clicks until the Prime dared to start to giggle. 

That giggle morphed into a chuckle, and then into a full laugh. 

All lust drained from Megatron's frame and a mix of anger and humiliation rose to fill its void. He stands, pushing the mech on his knees aside as he made for the door. He was a warlord, he had killed more mechs than existed-- he would not be laughed at in berth. 

The laughter died, and a servo wrapped around his thigh, stopping the ex-warlord from going too far. He stops but does not turn to face the still giggling Prime. 

"Oh come on. That was funny. Come back," Optimus says. 

Megatron does not move. 

The giggle died too, "Okay, I'm sorry for laughing. Come back? So what if it's been a while since you've interfaced? We've all been busy with the treaty." 

Megatron plants his pedes in place and debates the consequences of running out on the Prime. 

"Megatron?" Prime asked, "What's wrong?" 

And then Optimus Prime starts to catch on. 

"Primus,"  _ there's that damned deity again,  _ "Please don't tell me…" 

Finally finding the will to move, Megatron snaps back at the Prime, "Yes Prime! I am still sealed!" 

For the second time, Optimus Prime looks shocked. Dumbfounded, he asks, "Wait. Just sealed or--?" 

"No. Not  _ just sealed, _ " Megatron snarls, "Now shut up. I will not be embarrassed further." 

Optimus stands, transfluid still sprayed across his faceplates. He steps forwards, pulling Megatron into a surprise hug. He doesn't know what to do with the sudden affection and resolves to do nothing but just take in the plating to the plating contact. It catches off guard just how much better it makes him feel. 

It takes a moment, but his old enemy releases him and steps back, "Well that changes a few things. Come. Sit back down on the berth." 

Without thinking, Megatron obeys. He trudged back, shutting his thighs together as he shits back down where he was, "You're not going to suck my spike again, are you?" 

But Optimus sits down beside him, "No. Not unless you want me to. I had fun." 

He fights it, but Megatron eventually shoves his face into his servos, "I overloaded before you could even start." 

The Prime has found a rag from somewhere and finally wipes the fluid from his face. He seems unbothered by the degradation of it all, but he had only flicks before asked Megatron to force him to suck his spike. Maybe the mech liked it? That was a novel thought, Optimus Prime, the voice of a God, likening being humiliated. 

"That ah," Optimus stated, awkwardly rubbing his own shoulder, "Normal. For your first time. Your frame isn't used to the excitement. It's okay. It's not like that usually. I don't mind really." 

"You're disappointed," Megatron accuses, removing his face from hiding. He glares at the Prime, putting on a bravado to hide the hurt. 

"Not disappointed! No. Not at all. It just wasn't what I was expecting. But we can work with this. Well, it's no wonder you didn't know about foreplay. That's alright." 

Then Optimus asks the most damning question of all, "Would you like to continue? I can help with a bit of the fumbling." 

Does Megatron want to continue? The overload had felt amazing. Optimus Prime was even being surprisingly understanding about the whole thing. He had liked holding the mechs helm down, and it would be awfully selfish of him to take his overload and not give back to the Prime, wouldn't it? 

"It's alright if you don't. We can stop here. This whole night has been a mess hasn't it been?" 

"Yes," Megatron mumbles, trying to find his voice, "I would like to continue. It felt nice before I… you know." 

Optimus smiles, soft and sweet in only the way Autobots can. It's sappy, and Megatron wants to die in embarrassment for it even being directed at him. 

"Well I'm still wet. Let me help your spike pressurize again and then we can finally get to the main event. Unless you want to use your valve--" 

"No," Megatron snarls, "No. My spike will be fine." 

Optimus nods and does not question his adamant refusal to use his valve but Megatron knows that it's not the end of the conversation. Autobots rarely ever let things lie. They always had to investigate, always had to  _ fix  _ everything. 

"Come here," Optimus said, taking his lover's arm and pulling him to lay back down on the berth. 

Megatron laid back down against the headboard, questioning their positions once more as Optimus crawled between his legs. His spike panel was still open, but his spike had receded back into its sheath. A digit rubbed over the bared tip gently. He looked up to see the Prime's optics sickeningly soft. 

"You know, I'm starting to see a vague picture of what's going on Here," Optimus says softly, "And I can work with it." 

Megatron glared down at him, "Less talking. I'm not going to pressurize because of one of your boring speeches." 

"You have a lot to learn. My words are all you need to get hard again Megatron. See, what I think is happening here, is that you've been so cruelly repressing yourself and it's expressed itself without you even noticing. Our frames aren't meant to go millions of years without a release. If my theories are correct, we may even be more compatible in the berth than you think," Optimus says, barely above a rumble. 

Megatron bites his lip as the digit brushes over the tip of his spike once more, "And what theories are those exactly?"

"You had habits during the war. For one, you always had the choice to put me in stasis cuffs or to put me in a stasis pod, but you always chose something more interesting. What was the point behind always using physical restraints Megatron? Did you like the way I struggled? Or maybe it was just aesthetics? Either way, I know I always enjoyed it," Optimus purred, "And now. You had no objection to forcing my helm down your spike. I felt how it affected your field. You like that don't you? Want to see your old enemy at your pedes, fragged into a submissive pile to do what you want with. You want a good little pet Prime to frag. You know I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Megatron spike sprang forwards with interest.

"I told you I could get you hard with--"

"Shut up and lay down," Megatron snarled. 

"How would you like me?" Optimus asks, sounding way too innocent for the words exiting his vocalizer.

He has to stop and think about that. But given the opportunity to strategize, Megatron can form a plan of attack. He may have to bend Optimus' legs back to frag him laying down, and his old enemy is built for power rather than flexibility. Perhaps it's better to choose a position that would be better for stamina? If Optimus was on his knees, Megatron could pull his hips against his own if his legs started to get tired. He decided.

"On your knees then, so I don't have to see your smug face," Megatron managed to say through a strained vocalizer. 

Optimus nods and gets into position. There's a bit of fumbling, but they settle with Megatron behind him. The arch of the Prime's back is absolutely lewd, and the glow of his valve betrayed his arousal. 

Dragging his thumb over the bared valve, a few drops of lubricant dripped down the swollen folds. How could one frame be so sinful? He really had been missing out on so much all of these years. 

Megatron swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, "You've thought about this a lot." 

Optimus looked back over his shoulder, "How could I not?" 

Megatron thrust into him in one stroke, not letting his nerves catch up to him. 

His valve is impossibly warm and impossibly tight. It's a whole new experience, and the immediate pleasure almost blinded him. But, Megatron is determined to hold on this time and give Prime his due. Taking a vent, he pulled back and felt immensely better when he could thrust a few times without immediately overloading. With that confidence boost, he set a gentle pace, not actually wanting to hurt his berth partner. 

"Harder," Optimus moaned, his optics catching Megatron's over his shoulder again. 

He added a bit more pressure, sped up just a tad. 

"I swear to the unmaker if you don't use some of that power of yours I will flip us over and ride you instead!"

Oh, well in that case. 

Putting his full force into his thrusts, earned him a yelp that dipped down into a moan partway through. He put his back into it, forcing the prime down onto his elbows. He grunted with the excursion, pounding into the Prime, not slowing as the mech started to pant. 

“There!” Optimus screams soon after, “There! Like that, Please!”

Megatron is familiar with this script. It followed him into his dreams, something only his subconscious dared to fantasize about, “Beg Prime. Maybe if you can sound pretty enough I’ll give you what you want.”

Optimus keens, burying his face into the berth, trying to hide. That won’t do. Megatron releases a servo from his lover’s hip and grabs the back of his helm, pulling it back up, “Don’t you dare hide, you fragger. You wanted this! Now beg!”

Optimus sucks in air and vents out rapidly, his frame is shaking. He gasps, but all at once, the words come tumbling out, “Please! Please! Please make me overload!”

Megatron doesn’t have time to respond, Optimus’s hips slam back into his own and then still all at once. His legs quake, but it’s only the colour of his optics; that bright illuminated white, that gives away the fact Prime has overloaded. Megatron doesn’t slow, now chasing his own overload. Optimus Prime’s vocalizer lets our pitiful whines as he holds on to the sheets.

Overload builds and then releases quickly, and Megatron floods the Prime for a second time. He only pulls out when he’s satisfied, watching the Prime’s valve gape when he pulls out fully. They fall down beside each other, venting heavily. 

“You like to be forced,” Megatron breaths out, the words feeling odd in reality. 

“No,” Optimus says, his cheeks a nice pink flush, “I like to be forced by  _ you. _ ”

Idiot Autobots. 

Megatron sits up and snaps his panels closed. Well, that was utterly humiliating. Primus, this was all such a mistake. He needed to get back to the party--

“Don’t you dare leave me here in berth,” Optimus snapped, still half out of breath. 

Megatron stopped in his tracks and laid back down. He wanted to blame his obedience on the fact the last breem had been extremely taxing on him. But leave it to the Autobot to want to cuddle. An arm wrapped around his waist as soon as he laid back down on the berth but it wasn’t meant to restrain him. Optimus’ optics were closed anyways. 

“How are your emotional subroutines?” Prime asks.

“Fine. But the party--”

“Alright,” Optimus hums and nuzzles into Megatron's neck, not even acknowledging his protest, “Let me know if that changes.”

It doesn’t. But the plating contact does settle him enough to fall into recharge.


End file.
